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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 





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Country V illa ge 



As Affected by the War. 



AN ADDRESS 

Delivered Before 

MIDDLETON POST, No. 500, 

Grand Army of the Republic, Dep't NY., 
and their friends by 

A. H. CLARK. 



New York. 1902. 



H 2 o ( 






ADDRESS 

BY 

A. H. CLARK. 



It has been said that the story of any life, if truthfully told, would ex- 
cel in interest a well-constructed fiction. Such being the case, I shall set 
out to tell of the events which came under my observation during one of the 
thrilling periods in the history of this country. I was thirteen years of age 
in April 1861. "Rather young" perhaps you will say, "to fully understand 
the import of the political upheaval connected with the time, and to rightly 
value the history making events that so rapidly followed." My bringing up 
was not that of the common child. My ancestry for far reaching years had 
valued liberty above everything, hence their early emigration to America. 
My immediate ancestor was a person who had fixed ideas regarding Heaven, 
as a place to be gained, and Hell, as a place to be shunned. A third propo- 
sition related to human slavery, which in his opinion was the sum of all 
evil. Discussions relating to slavery were of constant occurrence, in our 
household and I was well grounded in all of the arguments of an anti- 
slavery advocate. Father in early times, was an avowed Republican, 
later he was known as a black Republican, and about the time of the elec- 
tion of Lincoln he became a damn'd Black Republican. A progressive 
progress in blackness. 

I may be pardoned if I keep the personal pronoun far to the front, as 
"I saw it," "I heard it," ranks above tradition, and is only one step from his- 
tory. History is recorded fact, while tradition, which in many instances is 
as valuable as history, lacks only the seal of the printed page. Our village 
was an intelligent one, not ranking so high perhaps as one of equal size 
in the New England States, but of a fair average. Its history dated back 
to the time when an Indian settlement occupied the same site. Later it 
became a camp of subsistence, and supply for the army of the Revolution, 
and the brave old warrior Steuben here swore the raw militia and recruits, 
into proper shape to endure the march, and to fight the battles, that gave 
us freedom. Here also Putnam had his headquarters, and hung spies with- 



out recourse to red tape or gallows etiquette. The War of 1812, and the 
Mexican War, were way marks on the stream of patriotism that reached 
down from Revolutionary times, and we had with us a few gray-haired 
veterans, whose commissions bore the dates of 1812, '13 or '14, and who 
could be depended upon to grace festive occasions with their presence, and 
to get gloriously drunk on the Fourth of July, which latter named lapse from 
correct living was regarded by them as a contribution to patriotism. The 
heroes of 1846 and '47 were not considered as being worthy of much 
thought; their services were of too recent date. One man and only one, 
had survived the ravages of time, and linked the present with the far 
distant era of the Revolution. At the wonderful age of 107 (near the 
time of his death) it gave him pleasure to relate to sympathetic listeners 
the story of the Battle of Bunker Hill, in which he participated. Fourth 
of July to which I have made reference, was a joyful occasion. Those pres- 
ent who have been brought up in the city have nothing but a passing idea of 
the patriotism of the country. Patriotism abides in the rural districts. Duty, 
a younger sister dwells in the city. Our garment of patriotism was home- 
spun to be sure, but there was little if any foreign mixture in the cloth. 
No city boy was ever thrilled as I was by the ringing of the church bells 
on the morning of that eventful day. Then the oration, and the parade of 
the militia. The Blakely rifles whose uniform was of blue, and the Jefferson 
Guards, with the brightest of red trappings, patterned after that of the 
British Army in its earlier days. Every bright thing in nature, except the 
cheeks of the rosy country girls who could be depended upon to be present, 
suffered by comparison. 

The election of Lincoln. How simple the fact, how momentous the 
crisis. The day of the election of Mr. Lincoln was in November, i860, 
a stormy day, the first snow storm of the season. A wet, clinging snow, 
that draped the fences, and the trees. Electors went to the polls as if to a 
funeral. The Black Republicans won. Who ever thought that the nigger 
loving Abolitionists would be triumphant? Between November, i860, and 
March 4th, 1861, the value of politics above all earthly possessions was 
made evident. The powers of hell seemingly prevailed. Justice, Right, 
Freedom, all that galaxy of Heavenly virtue that the good admire, and 
are the opposite of evil, were cast into the mire of greed, for the con- 
tinued possession of human beings, and their offsprings as slaves. A cold, 
blustering day in March 1861, was the forerunner of the temporary stop, 
of Mr. Lincoln, while on his way to Washington to assume the Presidency. 
There was but one man in our town who had ever seen Mr. Lincoln, and 
he was an ex-Congressman, whose term of office was nearly equal to that 
of Mr. Lincoln. He was therefore delegated to welcome Mr. Lincoln in 
the name of the villagers. The train arrived at about two in the afternoon. 
A baggage truck was wheeled up on a parallel track, and Mr. Lincoln 
stepped on it from the platform of the rear car. A deputation of citizens 
headed by our Congressman also occupied the baggage car, and after some 
handshaking, and introductions, our first citizen made a short address, to 
which Mr. Lincoln made a brief reply. Boy-like, I occupied a front seat, 
and no one in the crowd that embraced about every man, woman and child 
for a circuit of fifteen miles or so, looked at Mr. Lincoln with more interest 
than I. He was the first President that I had ever seen. After I had gazed 
at him sufficiently, I retired with a sneaking suspicion, that Presidents did 



not average as to looks, much higher than common people. The most enthu- 
siastic admirers of Mr. Lincoln, never made any claims in his behalf for 
grace of person or manner. He was long drawn out, lank, and in a 
measure unkempt. At the time of which I speak, he was travel-tired, and 
borne down by an overwhelming sense of the responsibility of the situation. 
Meantime the one field piece in charge of the militia, a relic of the Mexican 
War, was being fired at intervals from the bluff above the depot. The 
speeches made, the cars bore Mr. Lincoln away. The crowd departed, and 
the village settled down to an universal wonder as to what the next scene in 
the mighty drama now unfolding, would be. 

We were afflicted about that time, and for months afterward by a treas- 
onable sheet published in the town, and edited by one of those narrow minds 
to whom human slavery seemed the greatest boon Heaven had yet granted 
to humanity. "Democracy" was a misnomer as interpreted by this oracle. 
To be a Democrat, was to be right beyond a peradventure — on the contrary, 
the Republican declaration that "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness" 
was a sentiment in accord with the revelations of that Supreme Goodness 
we all acknowledge, was all a mistake when applied to the "Nigger." The 
youths of Cortlandt who were quick to enlist in their country's service, 
were "Hirelings." Those who were quite as quick to sustain the cause of 
the South, were "Patriots." The Constitution as expounded by this disci- 
ple of slavery with that other "sweet boon" the doctrine of "State's Rights" 
left nothing in the way of a higher code of morals whether God or man 
made, for discussion. This paper was as yeast in the public ferment of 
ideas. 

Mr. Lincoln in due time was inaugurated. The efforts made by him to 
compose a peace are a matter of history. The conventions held in Balti- 
more, in Charleston, in Chicago, and in Philadelphia, you may have forgot- 
ten. They were all honestly intended in the interests of harmony. But 
the question of slavery, the discordant note co-existent with the Republic, 
was still like a treacherous sand bar, in the river of statecraft. Peace ? 
There was no peace! There could be no permanent peace without justice; 
and slavery and justice were incompatible. 

Now followed the firing on Fort Sumter. Well do I remember that day 
in early spring time when the news of the insult to our flag, to our country, 
to the cause of humanity, reached our town. I was on my way home from 
school at noon-time. The fire whistle sounded an alarm, and later the 
church bells tolled. It was a fit occasion. The day of sacrifice had come. 
We were to lay on our country's altar a burnt offering, such as never before 
in the history of the world had been offered to the God of Battle. Who 
then would have dared predict what would follow ? As a side issue, I 
might state that after I had absorbed the news, I hastened home to tell my 
folks. Unfortunately I met on my way, a doubting Thomas, in the person 
of a school-mate, whose sympathy, like that of his parents, favored the 
cause of the South. We had a short confab, which somewhat resembled 
the contact of flint and steel. Instead of sparks, our fists flew out, and 
there was a sudden clinch. Meantime I was not idle, as the well chewed 
ear of my South-loving friend would testify. I need not go into detail fur- 
ther than to say, that a truce, honorable to both sides, found us each a 
little battered. Arived at home I was halted at the outer door of our castle 
by my mother, who was never overly partial to fighting. My explanation 



not being of the proper sort, I was quickly, vigorously, and I might add 
for the honor of the family, scientifically cuffed into a sense of the fitness 
of peace, on my part, at any price. 

My father was profoundly affected by the news which I imparted to him, 
He seemed to have a premonition of the mighty struggle impending. 

The town had been about equally divided between the "Peace at any 
Price," the "Pro-Slavery," "Anti-Slavery," "State Rights," "Let the erring 
sisters depart in peace," "Jeffersonian Democrats," "Old-Line Democrats," 
"Plain Democrats," "Free Soilers," the before-mentioned "Dam'd Black 
Republicans", (who had made all the trouble) and "Abolitionists." But to 
the credit of all concerned, every man in town, except the editor of the 
States Rights Journal, were at once converted into "The Union at any 
Price" party. A rousing meeting in the evening supplemented a variety of 
impromptu corner gatherings. A number of citizens who in a political 
sense had spit at one another like two cats in an argumentative mood, 
every time they met, were at this crisis found on the same platform, and 
with a common purpose, which was greatly to the credit of human nature. 
Our largest gun (figuratively speaking) was present at this meeting. All 
the clergy, save one, and several lesser lights, but no one voiced the public 
sentiment as thoroughly as our patriotic sign and house painter, Col. Pitch- 
er. Where he gained his rank, is to me unknown, but he rose in one night 
to a generalship by that speech. I suppose he was the only man in the au- 
dience that did not lose his head or was not too much oppressed by the 
occasion to express his sentiments. The States Rights editor was asked to 
voice his mind the same evening, after which he saw a light, that in a 
measure seemed to lead to a mill pond. He ceased for the time, to twang 
his one-stringed lute. 

Mr. Lincoln's call for 90,000 men was the next matter that came to hand. 
Bills were posted about the village stating succinctly that a call had been 
made by the President for men, and a wish was expressed, "That as Old 
Cortlandt" had not been found wanting in the past, it was hoped that a 
proper response would be made in the evening, at the public meeting, where 
an opportunity would be afforded volunteers to place their names on the 
roll." The evening came and with it the meeting, which after the manner 
of Americans, all of whom seemed to take naturally to a parliamentary 
method of conducting business, elected a chairman and proceeded in an or- 
derly manner to the transaction of the business before them. Speeches 
were made that were intensely patriotic. I was chuck full of patriotism 
myself. I hoped other people would be as much so, and I was not given 
any cause for disappointment. My townsmen did not fail in that crisis or 
ever afterward. The entire population of the village, men, women and 
children, and even babes in arms, considered in the estimate, did not equal 
5,000 in number, yet the total enlistment was seven hundred men or more. 
More than ten per cent. No town of equal size did better, so far as I am 
informed. I remember the pause after the speaking at the meeting; the 
laying of the roll upon the table by the chairman ; how quickly thereafter 
men arose ; pressed forward, and in eager emulation placed their names 
thereon. There were no patriotic songs to sing; the time for singing had 
not come. We were nearer the time for weeping. A profound silence 
prevailed. No cheers, no one spoke loudly, everything decently and in 
order. Fit inspiration for a poet or painter. 



A few years ago I made a journey in midwinter to Ballston, a place in 
the vicinity of Saratoga Springs. The day set tor my going proved a 
stormy one. Some time before I reached my destination, a heavy freight 
train had gotten stalled in the drifting snow, which also brought our train 
to a standstill. While the train hands were making efforts to remove the 
obstructing snow, the passengers amused themselves as best they could. 
Night came on and at last the cars were lighted, which seemed to make 
everybody good natured and somewhat more cordial. A party in the far 
end of the car entertained some gentlemen with stories of the war. The 
car was as still as a parlor, except for the animated conversation of the 
veteran. During the progress of his narration, I heard my native place 
mentioned, which put me somewhat on the qui vive. I therefore deter- 
mined to take a look at the story-teller. I walked up to the end, and faced 
about, which also brought me face to face with the speaker. I at once rec- 
ognized him as the second person to sign the volunteer roll previously 
described. As soon as the conversation lagged, I made myself known 
and we had a very agreeable talk during which he informed me that though 
the second to enlist, he really became the first, as the person who signed 
previously was not able to pass the surgeon's examination, and he thus 
came to be the first volunteer from the town of Cortlandt. 

The town of which I write, had had for years a very superior Academy 
or preparatory school, which was well attended by scholars from all parts 
of the United States. Military tactics had been, and are still, a part of its 
curriculum. Therefore many of the young men of the village were more 
or less skilled in evolutions. The first volunteers under the guidance of 
one of the older graduates of the academy, who afterward rose to the rank 
of a major in the 48th N. Y. Infantry, became quite proficient in the manual 
of arms before they joined their regiment. 

It had been determined by the ladies of the village that the boys should 
have a flag, and one was hastily procured. The volunteers met the morn- 
ing of their departure, in the town hall. The command "Fall in!" came 
in due time, and the boys made a very respectable showing. As I remem- 
ber them, their average as to age was much older than our more recent 
volunteers. There were many mature men. They moved off at last down 
the street in regular company formation with the afterward Major acting 
as temporary Captain. A stand had been erected in front of the Presby- 
terian church, and here the ladies with the flag awaited the recruits. The 
village band played "The Girl I Left Behind Me," as all bands do on such 
occasions, and every marcher felt himself a hero. The church reached, 
the commander somewhat lost his head, for which I think he might be 
pardoned, forgot the word "Halt !'* and as he found his command passing 
the church, cried out "Hold on! Stop a little!" and they all stopped a lit- 
tle. This faux pas made a great laugh, and the tension was somewhat re- 
moved, under which everybody labored. The flag was presented in due 
form, and with appropriate words. The ladies all looked their very best, 
which was not really necessary, as they were handsome anyway. (Our 
town was always noted for the beauty of its women). The Major made a 
gallant reply, and with better success in starting than he had in stopping 
his troops, they all marched off to the waiting cars, and then the first de- 
tachment of our boys, came to be a part of the nation's "Boys in Blue." 

At this distance, when I come to think over matters relating to the war. 



I wonder how it happened that so much importance was attached to such 
small matters. So much of importance attached to certain people, and 
what was fondly expected of them. We had one good-natured giant, who 
hardly knew enough to come in, when it rained. Everybody said "if we 
could only get Billie Smith to enlist, he would make an officer worth talk- 
ing about." Billie could have officered a whole regiment of oxen, in a log- 
rolling or stump pulling frolic, as his "Gee Haws" were good for a mile or 
so, on a still day. He did enlist finally, and was promptly killed in his first 
engagement. He was probably the most conspicuous man on the field. 

A gun factory nearby was stirred into activity, and where their pay-roll 
previously embraced a few score men, it now contained thousands, and the 
forges beat the steel, day and night, and the glare from the furnaces red- 
dened the clouds, as if a distant town was on fire. The villagers went 
down to inspect the first consignment of new guns from this factory that 
were sent to the front. The universal verdict was, that when they reached 
their destination, they would about end the trouble. Thousands upon 
thousands of just such guns followed, and the end came not. 

A little muddy stream that from time immemorial had carried its burden 
to a larger river, came by chance to give name to the first great surprise of 
the conflict. Bull Run, what a name for a stream ! We had some fine 
clear spring-like mountain brooks up our way, but it was reserved for this 
accursed moving mud puddle, to redden with the blood of our Northern 
boys. We had heard of the "Po-to-mack" as some of our village know-alls 
were pleased to call it, but Bull Run figured on no map of ours. No boy, 
who in pursuit of a bird's nest, falling out of a tree, ever was more shocked 
by the rapid approach of the earth to meet him. No aged gentleman ever 
missed a chair, and sat on the seemingly willing floor, with more sudden 
alacrity. Nothing ever happened to nothing else, with more sudden- 
ness than the result of the Battle of Bull Run, which took all the conceit out 
of that part of the United States that still claimed to be "United." We had 
our share of fighters at Bull Run, and our share of runners at Bull Run, 
later in the day. Everybody fought, then, everybody not previously killed, 
ran. The honors therefore were even. Nearly forty years after that dis- 
aster we can be jocular, but it is more of a grin than a laugh, even at that 
distance away. 

Our first military funeral followed Bull Run. One of our boys came 
home for his eternal rest in the old Continental burying ground, the same 
sacred place in which many soldiers of the Revolution lay. The village 
was profoundly moved with sympathy, mingled with pride. Other towns 
had buried their dead heroes, now we had come up to the same measure of 
sacrifice. We had been tried in the same fire. Sunday was the day set for 
the funeral. The day dawned as if for a wedding. Nature was in one of 
her inviting moods. A summer sky, a summer stillness. The mountains 
which lift themselves nearly to the sky on every side, were reflected in the 
placid river which flowed at their base. A lesson not to be found in books, 
a lesson of peace, was in the very air. As the hour approached, the streets 
became thronged with the entire population. Some war-stained veterans 
from the front accompanied the remains of their late comrade. They were 
the first veterans we had seen. The procession formed, and the remains of 
the deceased rested in the village hearse. We had not arrived at a draped 
gun carriage yet. We were new to military funerals, or they to us. The 

8 



largest church was too small for the multitude. After the exercises, the 
procession formed, and the village band led, playing "Pleyel's Hymn." It 
was the best they could do for a funeral march. Funeral marches came 
later, with the draped gun carriage. A volley was fired at the grave. 
The hills had forgotten the proper echo, since over seventy years had 
elapsed since volleys over graves had been the custom in that vicinity, and 
only a confused sound came back. Even an improved echo was added to 
the funeral march, and draped gun carriage. The band played a sprightly 
air on its return from the funeral. 

Now came another call for men. Uncle Abe had found that he had 
something of a fight on his hands, and thus call succeeded call. I will tell 
you of the regiments that had some of Cortlandt's best blood. You may 
have fought shoulder to shoulder with them, and not known it. You were 
in good company in any case. No deserter came from our town, or a man 
that disgraced the flag so far as known to me. Some went as privates and 
remained so. Some went in the ranks, and arose to be officers, and they 
deserved their promotion. Every man did his duty in his proper place. 
Here are the regiments that contained our boys in a greater or less degree : 

ist N. Y. Engineers. 

*2nd N. Y. Cavalry. (Harris Light). 

5th N. Y. Heavy Artillery. (A company). 

5th N. Y. Infantry. (Duryea's Zouaves). 

6th Cavalry. 

**6th Heavy Artillery. (A company). 

9th Infantry. (Hawkins Zouaves). 

nth Cavalry. (Scott's Nine Hundred). 

13th Cavalry. 

17th Infantry. 

32nd Infantry. 

48th Infantry. 

59th Infantry. (A company). 

119th Infantry. 

146th Infantry. 

148th Infantry, and a number in. Sickles' Brigade, and here and there 
one in other regiments, as also a respectable contingent in the Navy. (60.) 

I must tell you further of a peculiar enlistment. I met the gentleman 
only a short time ago. I had not seen him for years. I said I have some- 
what forgotten the method of your joining the army. Said he, I had gone 
up on the Northwest Coast on a whaling cruise before the breaking out of 
the war, and our first news of the war was from a vessel that joined our 
fleet in 1862. The Captain called the crew together, and requested us to 
state our wishes in the matter. We unanimously resolved to return, which 
we did. We did not meet a vessel from which we could obtain news till off 
Nantucket. We hailed this ship, and inquired "if the war was over?" 
We received the prompt reply "that there was enough left for all hands." 
We made port late in the day, received our pay. Before night every man 
from captain to cook, included, enlisted in a cavalry regiment, and we sent 



♦Kilpatrick was their commanding general. 

**Never saw duty as artillerists. Were with Sheridan in the "Valley,'' 
and saw the defeat of Early. 



our first letters home, on paper that bore the heading "Army of the Po- 
tomac," near Warrentown, Va. 

How eagerly the papers were scanned for news. "Scare" headings were 
then unknown, but the printers managed to make evident, with much 
smaller display the leading news from the front. 

Anyone now befpre me who read the papers during that trying period 
will remember the oft repeated: 

"All quiet on the Potomac," which later was embalmed in verse as fol- 
lows: 

"All quiet along the Potomac, they say, 
Except now and then a stray picket 
Is shot, as he walks on his beat, to and fro, 
By a rifleman hid in the thicket. 

"Tis nothing — a private or two, now and then, 

Will not count in the news of the battle ; 
Not an officer lost — only one of the men, 

Moaning out, all alone, the death-rattle." 

Then the reports of battles in which no particulars were given except 
that certain regiments were engaged, and that the losses were large. A 
day or two after the lists of "killed, wounded and missing" began to appear 
filling columns and sometimes whole pages of the daily newspapers. 

How those lists were gone over and over again. The name misspelled 
which sounded so nearly like that of the loved one. The word "missing" 
probably brought the most anxiety of all. One of the boys I remember was 
reported "missing," and then the matter ended for months. Finally a ru- 
mor from somewhere, seemed to point to a Southern prison. Then the 
months went on again in dreary procession. An exchange brought back 
some of the soldiers, much wasted, and the tidings that Jim returned with 
them, but was too nearly starved, to endure the trip and was now in a hos- 
pital on Davids Island, near New York city. Jim's mother and sister went 
down at once, reached the hospital, inquired, were shown the cot in the 
proper ward, but the mother could not recognize her son, and the son was 
too feeble to make himself known to his mother. The bandage making, 
and lint picking sociables, under the auspices of various ladies relief so- 
cieties, went on apace. 

The New York Central was the main railroad line from the west, and 
most of the western soldiers went south over that road. Trains drawn by 
two engines, and in two or more sections, bore daily evidence of the patrio- 
tic grist that was going to the mill. Sometimes, the trains would stop for 
wood or water. The soldiers would then get off for a temporary leg 
stretching. , 

After the formation of regiments of Zouaves, with their red breeches, 
and coats much patterned after, since, by the" ladies; the enlistment fever 
broke out anew in our town. Our Henry Patterson, a member of the same 
family in which one of the Bonapartes married, was made color bearer of 
Hawkins' Zouaves. He lost his life at Roanoke Inlet. He was shot down 
finally, but lying on his back held the colors aloft. His father was pre- 
sented with the flag, and the several times bullet pierced staff. 

But the end came at last, and the news of the surrender of Lee, was de- 



voutly and thankfully received. There were too many memories to allow 
of much outward expression. 

The assassination of Lincoln which immediately followed, was taken as 
a personal bereavement. Tears were in every eye. The train bearing the 
remains back to his native State, brought more people to the banks of the 
Hudson to witness its passage than were ever seen before, or ever will be 
again, on a like errand. 

The war was now over, the advent of nearly every day brought with it 
the return of some one's son, brother, husband, father or friend. 

The patriotic song writers had kept step with the ever varying phases of 
the war. They had been somewhat prophetic regarding the home coming 
of our soldier boys, but the time came when the following, in part, which 
was originally dedicated to the 12th Massachusetts Volunteers, seemed to 
have a special significance: 

"When Johnny comes marching home again, Hurrah, hurrah ! 
We will give him a hearty welcome then. Hurrah, hurrah ! 
The men will cheer, the boys will shout ! 
The ladies, they will all turn out ; 

CHORUS. 
And we will all feel gay again 
When Johnny comes marching home. 

The old church bell will peel with joy, Hurrah, hurrah ! 
To welcome home our darling boy, Hurrah, hurrah ! 
The village lads and lassies say, 
With roses they will strew the way. &c, &c. 

The greatest good accomplished by the war to my mind (after the wip- 
ing out of slavery) was the comradeship engendered by the companionship 
of camp and field. Drinking from the same canteen, enduring the same 
dangers and hardships, knit men together with bonds of steel. Your or- 
ganization is proof of all I claim. Had the contrary of what I claim been 
the truth, you would have felt that you had had quite enough of each other's 
society. 

To still further illustrate comradeship, I will tell you of an experience of 
mine. When the Third Avenue horse cars were still jogging along in their 
old fashioned way, I occupied a front platform one afternoon on my way 
to the Grand Central Station. Somewhere in the vicinity of Twenty-third 
street, the driver suddenly put on the brake and the car stopped. I then 
noticed that a somewhat portly gentleman accompanied by two ladies were 
standing on the corner. The driver got off and aided the ladies to step on 
the car, but when the gentleman was ready, the driver said to him, "Gen- 
eral, don't you know me?" The General seemed at once to recognize him. 
and they fell into one another's arms and caressed like two school girls. 
Meantime the cars were coming to a standstill behind us. The conductor 
pulled the bell vigorously, but the car remained as if rooted. The driver 
escorted the General inside and gave him a seat, and only then and not 
before, was he ready to unwind the lines and start the car. The General 
seeing that everybody was interested, in a gentlemanly way explained that 
the driver had been his orderly during the war, had been a very faithful 
man , and once, when he was dangerously wounded, had carried him from 



the field in the face of great danger to both. The Grand Central reached, 
the General and his party were helped off, as they had been helped on, the 
driver stood at "attention," and the General was treated to a salute that 
meant a lot more than is to be found in the Army Regulations. 
In conclusion I would ask: "Do you forget the crowd that met, 

Years ago — historic years ? 

A patriot throng, gathering with 

Loud hurrahs and cheers; 

The music of bands, 

The grasping of hands, 

The partings, freighted with hopes and fears, 

The wavings of scarfs, and loves bright tears, 

While under the flag that each heart reveres. 

Gay is the day, 

In sunny Broadway, 

Our gallant boys went marching along 

"Off to the War" one thousand strong. 

Green on the wall of memory's hall 

Twine garlands of myrtle and laurel, 

For those passed through the pale door 

Of bright evermore, 

For they fell as they fought — each face to the foe. 

Silent the drum, 

And rusty the sword, 

But down History's aisles, in the future appears, 

Names — looking dim through the mist of our tears, 

Yet glowing as martyrs immortal with years. 

In silence the glass 

To their memory pass : 

Another — a bumper — and with it a cheer, 

Let us give to the battle-scarred Veterans here." 



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